


Wouldn't You Rather Be a Widow Than a Divorcée?

by feverbeats



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-30
Updated: 2011-07-30
Packaged: 2017-10-22 00:12:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/231463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feverbeats/pseuds/feverbeats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"But Albus," Dippet says, "I just don't see the <i>point</i> of worrying about who can and can't get married. Surely we've all got more important matters on our minds? After all, there's that nasty business in Bulgaria."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wouldn't You Rather Be a Widow Than a Divorcée?

**One**

"I just don't see what it is to do with us."

Albus is torn between gritting his teeth in frustration and just being flooded with relief. All any of the other teachers have been talking about lately is the trouble in Bulgaria, showing, for once, an inconvenient concern for other people's welfare. But at least they've stopped short of wanting to get involved.

"Oh, I agree, Horace," Dippet says, twining his fingers together nervously behind his desk. Albus has noticed that all the headmaster ever does is agree. "But," Dippet says, and that's a change, "the Ministry is putting pressure on us to do something about it."

"On us?" Albus asks mildly. He knows what's coming.

"Well," Dippet says. He doesn't go on.

" _You_  know," Horace says, elbowing Albus lightly in the ribs.

Albus knows. Every problem the Ministry has had since Albus came of age has been a problem they've "wanted something done" about, and apparently no one else is fit to deal with it.

"It's Bulgaria," he says. "I'm not sure they'd take well to British Wizards swooping in and attacking their so-called dark lord." He feels, for once, as if he's in a conversation he doesn't know the direction of.

"So-called? Albus, please." Horace gives him that infuriatingly indulgent smile, the one that makes Albus wish he hadn't let the man get to know him so well and in so many ways. "He's killed quite a lot of people," Horace continues. "If you call it anything but a hostile takeover, you're deluding yourself."

"Besides," Dippet puts in, "Bulgaria has officially asked the Ministry to send whoever they can."

The situation must be desperate, then. Albus has gotten very good at ignoring the rumors of Grindelwald's reign, or at least he's learned to write them off as exaggeration, but that tactic has become less and less appealing. If even Dippet and Horace are being shaken from complacency, the time may be coming for Albus to take action.

There are a host of reasons he would prefer not to, not one of which is known to his friends. There are too many things he cannot bear to hear Gellert tell him. Arianna's fate is one of them, of course. Another is an accusation of betrayal that would still sting after all this time. Albus thinks what he fears more than anything, though, is learning the full extent of what Gellert has become.

He wonders, though, if Gellert has always been this and Albus simply missed it.

 **Two**

"I swear, it's as if you've never interacted with humans before."

"I'm sorry?" Albus rolls over to look at Gellert, who is perched on the edge of the bed. Albus has been lying flat on his back on the floor in an attempt to avoid the heat and to converse with Gellert without looking at him directly.

Gellert tilts his head, and his curls fall over his eyes. He looks bemused. "Well, it is. You're so funny about everything. I don't mind it, obviously."

Gellert doesn't usually go out of his way to avoid being rude, so it makes Albus feel special when he does.

"Sorry," Albus says absently.

Gellert smiles. "Don't be."

The scent of roses blows in through the window, and Albus feels blinded by love, overwhelmed, choked. Gellert laughs, and the world becomes almost too bright, too intense to bear.

Then Gellert says, "How many times have  _you_  done the Unforgiveable Curses?"

Albus blinks, shifting focus. "I don't really make a habit of that," he says carefully.

Gellert slides off the bed and lands next to Albus on the floor before stretching out beside him, their hips touching. Albus has noticed that Gellert doesn't like to be out of physical contact with him for more than a few minutes when they're in private, and often when they're in public.

"What would you think," Gellert says softly, toying with Albus's elbow, "if I told you that I had to leave school in Bulgaria because I used the Cruciatus Curse on someone?"

There's a chance that the question is purely academic—Gellert has been known to ask questions like that that don't appear to be based on fact—but Albus doubts it. "I suppose I'd ask you why."

Gellert sighs. "Always  _why_ , with you. I was experimenting with something. They never liked it when I experimented. Look, there are a lot of things I  _haven't_  done."

Albus laughs, despite himself. He isn't sure whether or not Gellert is telling the truth about the Cruciatus Curse, but it doesn't matter. It's  _Gellert_. He's hardly a threatening figure. "Not many things, I'd imagine." From what he's learned so far, Gellert has had at least fifteen boyfriends, put one of their eyes out, and used a curse on someone in bed without permission. Albus doesn't believe a word of it, or at least he can't tell which bits to believe.

"I don't do anything." Gellert curls against him, warm from the sun.

"You did tell me you'd slept with a teacher," Albus says, letting his hand press against Gellert's thigh.

"I was lying. I've never used the Imperius Curse on anyone, either."

Albus frowns. "Stop admitting to things I haven't accused you of."

Gellert laughs, practically, a giggle, and this time he doesn't stop abruptly and become terrifying, as he often does. His fingers tangle around Albus's, and when Albus looks over, his eyes are shut.

"Have I told you about the unicorn I met?" Albus says after a moment. Gellert likes to hear about beautiful things. "It was in the forest near Hogwarts, and it let me get close enough to pat it."

Gellert rolls over onto his elbows and regards Albus seriously. " _Really_. I met a unicorn once. It tried to kill me."

Everything Gellert says feels like part of one long joke, the punchline of which Albus hasn't caught on to yet. That includes the fact that Gellert has kissed him seventeen distinct times in about a week. Albus doesn't mean to keep count, but he does, incredulous and pleased.

 _The first time is horribly awkward, Albus unable to keep himself from staring at Gellert's lips, starting and saying, "Wait, don't—" as Gellert playfully pushing him away, then being caught entirely off guard when Gellert grabs the front of his robes and kisses him first._

 _It's better than all the times a girl asked Albus to come to Hogsmeade with her only to try to hold his hand and look put off when he tried to talk to her about history.  
_

After a long silence, Gellert says, "England is a paradise. "His bare arm is pressed against Albus's side. "I hated Bulgaria, but now I'm here with you. This is perfect." He opens his eyes and gives Albus a little smile, all hope and wonder.

Albus is still getting used to the idea of allowing himself to relax and just be with Gellert. The other boy is such a whirlwind of energy and emotion, though, and Albus can't relax for long. A part of him still keeps thinking,  _If we're caught . . ._  and he's not even sure if he's worried about their plans for the world or their seventeen kisses. He knows well enough that there aren't many people like them in the world.

 **Three**

"Sir, can I ask you something?"

Tom is standing where he always stands at the end of class, in front of Albus's desk.

Albus smiles instead of sighing. He should be encouraging young minds, after all. "Of course."

Tom folds his hands behind him as he always does when he's trying to hide the fact that he's nervous, or pretend that he's hiding it. "It's just, you said something in that lesson about—What was his name, the Wizard who pioneered the Boundary Theory?"

Albus hates it when Tom puts on this act. He's so brilliant, but he's found that he gets farther with most of the professors by being  _cute_ , so he stumbles over his ideas and looks up at people through his eyelashes. It infuriates Albus more than it should. "Thomas Finear, yes."

Tom brings his hands in front of him, now fiddling with them very deliberately. "Well, you mentioned that he had a partner, Verily Jacques? Is that the same Jacques who invented the sleeping potion most widely used today? Because Professor Slughorn mentioned him."

Albus hates that he can't see where Tom is going with this, because he's always going somewhere. "Yes, I believe it's the same man. Why?"

"Because Professor Slughorn said—" Tom pauses a little and then leans forward, getting in Albus's space. The boy is almost as tall as he is now. "He implied that Jacques was _involved_  with some of his partners, sir. And I was wondering if that included Finear."

Damn Horace for bringing that up. He never could help himself. "Yes," Albus says steadily, "I believe they were partners in more than one sense. They were living together when Finear died."

Tom's face has gone pinched and pale. "Is that  _all right?_ " His voice is tight with what Albus has come to recognize as hope, although it sounds too strained and horrible to be.

"I—" Albus finds that he can't say anything, because the answer isn't easy. It's not punishable by death, as it was in the days before Albus was even born, but nor is it any more spoken of than it is in the Muggle world.

"Sir, please, you need to—" The naked plea on Tom's face disappears suddenly, tucked away behind a flat, blank expression. "Could you please tell me more about homosexuality in the Wizarding world?"

Albus feels paralyzed. He is the wrong person to ask this of. Tom is looking at him with hope, the same hope that Gellert had in his face when he asked Albus to hold his hand in the streets of Godric's Hollow, and Albus can't give Tom any more than he gave Gellert. "I'm sorry," he says, practically choking on the words. "Perhaps you'd best ask Professor Slughorn." It's cruel to both Horace and Tom, because Horace is just as much of a coward as Albus.

Tom laughs, and even that is familiar. "Slughorn. You know, I think I will." He looks Albus straight in the eye, and his eyes are the wrong color to shake Albus, but they do.

When he walks out, Albus lets out a long breath. Fine, let the boy become Horace's problem. Although Horace is still, and possibly always will be, Albus's problem. It's a mistake he made, letting someone else into his life, and he's paid the price in stupid, petty ways only. If he lets someone like Tom Riddle in, he'll pay much more dearly. He won't make that mistake again.

 **Four**

"Mm. You look nice, sucking."

Gellert slides one finger into Albus's mouth, pressing the pad against the side of Albus' tongue. Albus lets his tongue rasp against Gellert's finger, trying to shut out the inevitable doubt and disbelief. His hair fans out across the pillow, still wet from the bath. Gellert's other hand dances around him, flesh refusing to meet flesh anywhere except Albus' mouth.

Albus sucks harder at Gellert's finger, but suddenly Gellert's hand is at his hip, and his mouth falls open in a short gasp. Gellert presses two fingers to the bare skin of Albus's hip, and his other hand is still cool against Albus' cheek.

"You know," Gellert sighs, stroking Albus's hip, "all it ever does here is rain." He does this, talking about other things when they're in bed.

"I—" Albus tries to catch his breath. "It must be better than Bulgaria."

"Bulgaria," Gellert says, "was a paradise. I'm going to take my clothes off now."

Albus hasn't done this before, not even with Elphias—although it's taken being naked with Gellert touching him to realize what Elphias nearly was to him—and he'd nearly made up his mind that he never would. He isn't sure this falls within his skillset.

Gellert discards the last of his clothing, and Albus is glad it's dark. Looking at the pale flickers of Gellert's body in the dark make him feel  _too much_ , and for a moment all he wants is to retreat into academia.

Then Gellert gives him a friendly little smile, and it's all right.

When Gellert reaches for his wand, Albus assumes there's a spell for—well, for making this process easier, but then he points it at Albus's chest and whispers, "Crucio."

White-hot pain shoots through Albus, but it's gone almost as soon as it starts, almost quickly enough that he could have imagined it.

"What," he gasps. "What are you doing?"

Gellert's face crinkles into a frown. "It's  _fun_ ," he says, dangerously sullen. "I just wanted to try it. I've done it before."

Everything Albus is about to say dies in his throat at the look on Gellert's face. "You just took me by surprise. We can try it." He's always been fascinated by new things, anyhow.

Gellert lights up. "Wonderful. And then you can fuck me."

Albus shuts his eyes and reaches for Gellert in the dark.

 **Five**

"Evening, Professor Dumbledore."

Albus looks up from his book, startled. He didn't hear the boy come in. "Oh, hello, Tom. How are you this fine evening?" He’s already on guard, though. It's well past evening, and Tom should be in bed by now. It makes no sense to be afraid of this boy, but he can't help it. Being afraid  _for_  him has become too exhausting. Two months and this will be over; Tom will have moved on into the world.

"I’m all right," Tom says slowly. He’s been speaking strangely in the past few weeks, as though he’s afraid he’ll trip over his words. It reminds Albus of when the boy was ten and unsure of himself, but that can't be the explanation now.

"Good," Albus forces himself to say cheerfully. "Anything I can help you with?" He's noticed that Tom has given up taking umbrage at being called  _Tom_. Then again, Albus is the only one who still makes a point of doing it.

"I think we both know," Tom says, and there's a sudden flash deep in his eyes, making them look red for a split-second. "I don't think I've been exactly subtle lately, Professor." The corner of his mouth twitches.

Albus frowns. "No, Tom, you haven't. But I think I've made it quite clear how I feel about that." And he thought he had, he really did. He thought maybe Tom would stop asking.

Tom comes closer, leaning against the desk and looking up through his lashes. "I just can't stand it anymore," he whispers.

And oh, neither can Albus. It’s been driving him slowly mad that whenever he looks at Tom, he sees Gellert. It's not even fair or accurate, but it's still there under his skin every time the boy tries a trick like this.

Tom comes around the desk and stands in front of Albus, looking older than seventeen and smarter than Albus.

Albus has never. There are boundaries that must not be crossed.

He reaches out and touches Tom's sleeve, and Tom smiles. "I knew you’d come around," he says like it's a private joke, like Albus doesn’t  _know_  what this is. Like Albus is Horace or something.

Tom presses against him, snakelike and lithe, and Albus can't fight the fact that it's been too long since he touched anyone. It's been since he was eighteen, that he touched someone he wanted this much, and Tom has swift, clever hands.

Tom ends up practically in Albus's lap, shaking his dark bangs out of his eyes as he grinds against Albus. Albus bites back an involuntary gasp.

He's still himself, though, at least for now, and he doesn't lose his head enough to miss the fact that Tom is suddenly holding a wand.

"What are you doing, Tom?" Albus asks more gently than he thought he could manage at a time like this.

Tom smiles and doesn't answer. Then he spits sibilant, liquid syllables of ancient spells, dropping curses like they're nothing. Maybe to him, they are nothing. Albus can feel the charge of power in the room, and he feels the sick twist in his stomach he still always gets when someone does truly dark magic. It's a mix of disgust and desire, much to his revulsion.

He feels the spells wrap around his body, enchanting and captivating him, and he pulls Tom against him hard.

Tom makes a shocked little noise, as though he didn't expect his plan to work. Then he begins slowly pumping his hips against Albus. Albus slips a hand down into Tom’s pants, if only to prevent Tom from touching him.

When his long fingers wrap around Tom’s cock, Tom hisses sharply. For a second, Albus thinks it's just a noise of shock, but then he realizes that it’s Parseltongue.

Tom blushes hotly, frowning. He bites his lip and keeps jerking his hips silently.

Albus shuts his eyes until Tom is finished.

Afterwards, Albus goes to Hogsmeade. He thought, briefly, of going to talk to Horace, but he knows how that would end. It would end in Horace's denial of having done or said anything, as it always does.

What Albus really wants is a drink. He knows he has his choice of pubs, but it would be discourteous at best to avoid Aberforth. Of course, Aberforth would almost certainly prefer being avoided, but Albus needs something like a friendly ear.

"Been a while," Aberforth says without turning around when Albus comes in. The Hog's Head is empty, at this hour, perhaps not even open.

"It has," Albus sighs. That's probably the friendliest thing Aberforth has said to him in years. "Long day." He doesn't have the energy to banter.

Aberforth turns around, looking sullen. "I'm not impressed. Try running a pub."

Albus laughs. "I'm considering it."

Aberforth's face softens slightly, so Albus must have done something inexplicably right. "Must have been a  _very_  long day. Let me guess: People keeping at you about Bulgaria."

Albus realizes he hasn't actually come here since the trouble in Bulgaria made itself known in England. "For one thing," he agrees cautiously.

"I know you know it's your responsibility," Aberforth says, "so I'm not going to tell you. But that can't be all." He sets down a tankard in front of Albus. "Here, on the house."

That only makes Albus feel worse. "It's foolish. I've got myself worked up over a student."

"Oh, the Riddle kid?" Aberforth grins at Albus's look of surprise. "You're not the only one who knows things. He comes here all the time, or he used to. Was in just the other day, though. Asking about you."

"Did you tell him anything?" Albus snaps, furious and frightened.

Aberforth shrugs. "I told him you were a fruit, yeah."

Albus shoves his tankard away. So that's what gave Tom enough hope to keep pushing Albus until he got somewhere. Well, it's not Aberforth's fault. But still—"It wasn't your business," he says roughly.

"He seemed upset." Aberforth turns away again, cleaning out a mug. "Didn't realize it was going to cause you so much trouble."

Albus can't be bothered to decide if that's a lie or not. He shoves the tankard hard toward Aberforth and strides out of the pub and back toward Hogwarts.

Albus just didn't expect that he'd grow up to be famous, that's all. He thought he could afford a few mistakes. As it turns out, history has a way of remembering all the silly nonsense you did when you thought no one was looking.

 **Six**

"Can't we? We'd be able to in Bulgaria." Gellert twirls his wand idly between his fingers.

Albus shakes his head, more excuses spilling from his mouth. "The spell won't work, anyhow. You're not of age."

Gellert smiles easily. "I'm sixteen. That's of age in Bulgaria. I'm still a citizen there. It ought to work. You're just afraid."

Albus swallows. Yes, he must admit that he is. He adores Gellert with every fiber of his being, but marriage is binding. _Forever_. Albus would gladly bind himself to Gellert forever with promises, but this—"If anyone found out," he begins.

"Do you know what happened to me today?" Gellert snaps. He loses control so rarely that Albus listens. "A woman in the street called me names. Because of my  _hair_ , I think." He laughs. "So yes. If anyone found out, they would hate us."

Albus waits, silent and miserable.

"But we're going to claim the world as our own," Gellert says, his eyes beginning to shine again. "And then it won't matter, will it? And this thing between us, it'll change the entire world. When the world has two men, two  _wedded_  men as their overlords, it will hardly dare complain."

Albus shivers and lays his hand over Gellert's. His fear—mostly—dissolves under Gellert's words. "You're right."

Gellert grins, electrifying as ever, and pinches Albus's palm. "I'm always right. Now, let's see if we can persuade my aunt to do the binding spell."

Albus balks. "Wait, that's not a good idea. If she knows, she'll tell someone, and—"

"And you clearly weren't listening," Gellert interrupts. "Someday, Albus, you'll be able to wear this marriage proudly. But for now, Aunt Bathilda won't mind if we do a little memory charm on her. Will that make you feel better?"

It doesn't, really, but Albus nods.

 **Seven**

"Legalize?" Dippet blinks at Albus.

"Yes," Albus says smoothly. "Legalize. Or didn't you know that gay and lesbian witches and wizards aren't allowed to get married?"

Dippet fidgets with his hands nervously. "I suppose it never even crossed my mind, but now that you mention it . . . Well, it seems a bit silly, that's all."

"What seems silly?" Albus is old enough to keep his voice utterly even, at least until the conversation escalates. Dippet doesn't have to approve of his current cause, anyhow. He can still go before the Ministry to fight for it.

Dippet dithers, as is his custom. "Oh,  _Albus_. I don't know. Can't you just teach your class like the other teachers?" He laughs nervously, because it's probably supposed to come off as a joke. "Always stirring up trouble."

"If one never stirs up trouble, Armando, nothing ever changes. We'd still be living in the dark ages if not for troublemakers."

Dippet sighs, long-suffering and put-upon. "I don't know. Marriage? That's just so utterly  _public_."

Horace, from his seat in the most comfortable armchair, nods in agreement.

"Yes," Albus says carefully. "Marriages often are."  _Hypocrite_ , he says in his head.  _You have no right to champion this cause._

Dippet seems to be trying for a way to avoid an argument. "I'll admit I never really gave it a thought, that's all. I mean, what happens if . . . if two wizards try . . .?"

"To perform the binding spell?" Albus asks. His heart is racing, but he can hide it. "It works, I imagine. But they would be hard pressed to find someone willing to perform it, and it would never be recognized by the Ministry."

"But Albus," Dippet says, "I just don't see the  _point_  of worrying about who can and can't get married. Surely we've all got more important matters on our minds? After all, there's that nasty business in Bulgaria."

Albus clears his throat, because laughing at the horrible irony would be out of place. "Perhaps it doesn't matter to you, Armando, but it does to me."

Dippet's eyes flick away as he looks anywhere but at Albus. "But you're not . . . I mean . . ."

And Albus can't. He still can't. He's spent so long trying to untangle personal and professional that he won't give it up now. "I have students who are," he says softly, feeling the weight of focus shift. "And it  _is_  important."

"Yes," Horace chimes in, "I think the Riddle boy's a bit queer, for one."

Albus takes a deep breath and turns to Horace. "Surely you agree with me, Horace?" he says. He does not say everything else. He already knows that Horace doesn't agree, but he'll still feel the sting of it. These tiny violences are something Albus will still allow himself.

Horace clears his throat. "I don't know. I mean, look, can't we leave the protesting and the politics to the kids? It's not really about us."

Albus wants to say,  _No, it's not about you. You'll still watch the handsome boys and pretty girls in your classes and you'll still go home a happy bachelor. But it's too late for me on that count._

"Well," Dippet says cheerfully, "the three of us have always done well enough without marriage. It seems a bit pointless, if you ask me."

Albus gives up, this time, but he vows to go to the Ministry tomorrow.

*

A month after Tom Riddle leaves Hogwarts, Albus finally convinces the Ministry to begin the process that will end, if Albus has his way, in gay and lesbian witches being allowed to marry.

That night, Albus is having a small celebratory drink with Horace. He knows now what he is going to do, what he  _must_ do.

"I'm going to Bulgaria," he says.

Horace raises an eyebrow. "To deal with this Grindelwald thing? Well, it's about time."

Albus looks at Horace, well-fed and cheerful in his armchair, and he cannot stand it.

"I'll just handle it, then," Albus snaps.

Horace sighs and takes another piece of candied pineapple from the little bag at his elbow. "Oh, Albus, you know I'm not cut out for that sort of thing. Besides, I hear he's never lost a duel."

A little thrill that is not fear goes through Albus. "I imagine not. But nor have I." Which won't matter, of course, if Gellert truly has the wand, but Albus has been researching, and thinking. There are other ways to defeat someone than combat.

"It's taken you long enough." Horace crosses his arms, possibly pretending to be more offended than he is. "If you can just defeat him, why not do it?" He narrows his eyes. "Or is there more to it than that? I know old Dippet tends to miss the point a bit, but I've seen the way you get when we mention Bulgaria."

Albus is caught. He can't lie to Horace's face, because of all the people in the world, Horace probably knows the most about Albus's life at the moment. He should never have let Horace in, but that's a problem for another day. "Then perhaps I should tell you," he says.

Horace looks horribly smug. "Go on, then."

 _Husband,_  Albus says in his head. The word rolls around, echoing slightly. "He was my—"

Horace draws a sharp breath. He's always been quicker than Albus gave him credit for.

"My friend," Albus finishes lamely. There's a reason the Sorting Hat didn't choose Gryffindor, he now knows.

Horace nods. "Well, I could have guessed it was something like that. You'd best do it, though. I'm glad you've decided to." He settles himself more comfortably in his chair and takes a sip of his wine.

Horace has probably guessed a good deal more than that, but Albus knows he'll keep his mouth shut. Just like that, the whole business seems foolish. It doesn't matter to Horace that Albus was friends—and perhaps more—with a dark lord. Perhaps youthful mistakes will be overlooked by others, as well, especially if Albus manages to liberate Bulgaria.

But Bulgaria is far away, and the Ministry cares less for it than it does for the rights of the children Albus has been campaigning for, if that is possible. He knows that in reality, he'll be granted no free pass for a good deed done in a far-off land.

He'll go to Bulgaria, but he won't tell anyone why.

That night, once Horace has gone off to his own bed, Albus takes out his pensieve. The memory of the spell binding him to Gellert is still too fresh, even all this years on, so he doesn't take it out. Instead, he leans over the pensieve, keeper of so many of his—and other people's—secrets, and whispers, "I might kill my husband tomorrow."


End file.
